


Honey

by nostalgia



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bees & Beekeeping, F/M, Magic Realism, Sex Pollen, sex honey, shag-or-die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of them Sex Pollen stories. Except with honey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

There is a label on the jar. It says _Don't Eat This_ , but there's nothing else and her stomach is complaining. She can buy more honey, she can deal with a petulant sulk.

It's good honey.

 

The TV shows her a variety of good-looking men. All different kinds, all paraded for her amusement. She's not usually a visual person, but with honey on her fingers and her fingers on her lips she can't ignore the shots of arousal that shoot through her with almost clockwork timing. There's nobody around and her hand drifts between her legs.

 

She wakes up with Sherlock standing over her, but her hands are in safe places and he couldn't possibly know. She pushes herself up in the armchair and attempts to look innocent. 

“Watson,” he says, “I thought you could read.” He's holding the half-empty jar with his fingertips, holding it like it's going to explode and take him with it. 

“I'm sorry,” she says, and her voice is surprisingly hoarse. She slurs the sibilant and coughs to clear her throat.

He crouches down and lifts her arm with his spare hand, pressing his fingers against her wrist. He puts the honey down on the side-table, then with a sticky touch he feels her forehead.

“You're dying,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Not euphemistically, although I expect you already tried that.”

He explains about the honey. It's a natural antiseptic, it's good for the skin. It is never to be ingested. He tells her about rare plants and unusual nectar, he tells her things she already knows about how plants have sex. He tells her about bees.

“So I'll have sex,” she says, lifting her foot to his leg, raising it until it presses the fabric tighter against his crotch. She smiles like a predator.

He moves her foot. “That would be deeply unethical. You're not capable of rational decisions.” He picks up her phone. “You must have an ex-lover in here somewhere,” he says.

“I don't _like_ them,” she says. “I like you.”

“It would be taking advantage.” She can see him thinking, ever so fast. 

She thinks faster. “So you want someone else to take advantage of me? That keeps your conscience clean?” He chews on his lower lip, frowning. She presses on. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn't,” he says. “I lie to you all the time, mostly by omission.” He folds his arms, the movement of fabric highlighting his muscles. “I know what's happening and you don't. It isn't fair.”

She has an answer to everything today. 

“Have some honey,” she says.

 

It drips slowly from her fingers to his lips, a golden string forming the line of contact. He grips the rails of the headboard, she leans over him and grinds her hips downwards.

The minor detail of averted death is nothing. All she knows is feeling and sensation. She is on her knees, she is on her back, her nails are dragged across his skin. She closes her eyes and arches her back. 

He calls her Irene but she doesn't care.

 

She finds him on the roof with the bees.

“There's nothing to discuss,” he says before she can produce the words. “Other than the fact that you should always read the label.”

“And that the kitchen isn't a good place to keep experiments,” she replies.

“Granted, that was a mistake. One I won't make again.” He turns his head, looks her up and down. “I'd feel a lot worse if I'd let you die. That would have been terribly selfish of me.”

“Thank you.”

“If I change the names can I put you in my book? About the bees?”

“I thought you weren't getting that published.”

“I'm not, but it seemed polite to ask.”

“Then yes, you can.” She touches his arm to show that everything's okay. Somehow it is.

The bees buzz.


End file.
